


Tear Out All Your Tenderness

by inverts



Series: At The Bottom Of A Wishing Well Was A Secret That We Dare Not Speak Out Loud [8]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Everyone is awful, Fighting, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV Second Person, Referenced past character death, Species Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8540032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverts/pseuds/inverts
Summary: “Help!” you shout, but who's going to hear you? Who's going to come?They all knew.Every single monster who knew you for what you are—they all knew what was going to happen when you reached the barrier. It doesn’t matter how much you shout and cry. Nobody’s going to come to help you.“Your choice,” Frisk says. Their voice has gone hard, what little emotion it held now cut away and discarded. “Kill,” they order, “or be killed.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Now there's no holding back, [I'm making an attack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZweDwbJ_Ic)

You're able only to stare at Frisk in stunned silence for several long seconds. Then, their clawed fingers curl the slightest increment, as they begin to close over your soul. Spurred into action, you bring your hands up, smacking their paws away and snatching that little red heart. You backpedal quickly, trying to press your soul back into your chest, but now that it's floating outside of you it resists like something physical, and the best you can do is clutch it against your breastbone.

“Always known how to break the barrier,” says Frisk. They don't follow you as you back away, and they let their hands drop to their sides. “Cross it with a human soul. Break it with seven.”

You turn and bolt for the door. It slams shut just in time for you to run into it; you bang a fist on the solid stone, and even with the entirely of the force you can muster, all that results is muffled little sounds. “Help!” you shout, but who's going to hear you? Who's going to come?

They all knew.

‘Anyway, he’s not gonna be around for much longer.’ 'I’d still like to get as much footage as possible while you’re still here.’ ‘All we have to do is deal with any humans unlucky enough to fall down here.’

Every single monster who knew you for what you are—they all knew what was going to happen when you reached the barrier. It doesn’t matter how much you shout and cry. Nobody’s going to come to help you.

The sound of shattering glass comes from behind you, and you whip around to see Frisk holding their arms out. The six jars that had surrounded the thrones are now nothing more than broken heaps of jagged shards, and the souls—six other human souls—six other humans who fell before you, who died in the name of freeing everyone—the six souls, each a different colour, hover above the remains of their containing jars for hardly a second, and then they're shooting across the room, gathering under Frisk's grasping fingers. 

“Shoulda killed you the moment I realized what you are,” they say, as casual as someone regretting buying the wrong brand of cereal. “But. Woulda had to kill Chara then, too.”

Their hands begin to close over the bright, glowing hearts. Their claws dig in, pressing little divots into the souls.

“Guess I wanted… a little more time with them.”

The souls wriggle and pulse under Frisk’s paws, like little creatures struggling to escape, and then Frisk’s fists close over them, and all six disappear.

Instantly, Frisk doubles over. They wrap their arms around themself, grabbing their shoulders, their claws ripping into their tunic. Between their suddenly loud and strained breaths, you can hear a choked whimper, and they stagger forward a step. Their voice rises into a pained groan, and they fall, shaking, to their knees. 

Behind them—behind the thrones, on the opposite end of the empty room, you see the only other door to this room. Open, and leading to the unknown. Directly in front of you, Frisk shudders, bowing forward in apparent agony, and in your hands, your own little soul trembles with your heartbeat. You hold it close and grit your teeth. 

You're not brave, and you're not strong. You're a crybaby wimp like everyone says.

You run. 

Frisk doesn’t rise as you dart past them. The doorway remains open, and you aren't stopped as you race through. 

The hallway you find yourself running through is dark stone, reminiscent of the ruins you saw when you first fell underground. Your rapid footfalls echo in the small space. There are fresh tears on your face again; the air rushing past is cool on your cheeks as you run. Another decorated doorway quickly appears before you, and you don’t hesitate to dash through this one, too.

You slam into a hard wall, and you stumble back, your arms and knees and entire front throbbing from the painful impact. Raising your head, your eyes widen at the sight before you. 

It’s not a wall you’ve run into, or at least, not any stone or brick structure, no natural cavern formation. Intense light washes over you in waves, and then fades to a black darker than a starless, moonless midnight. As the light falls, a thrumming noise rises—overwhelmingly loud in your ears, quiet as drawing breath. There’s no doubt in your mind as to what you’ve found. Darker than Frisk’s pupils, and then brighter than the sun Chara will never see. You reach an unsteady hand forward; when your fingers touch that impassable barrier, it shocks through you, a jolt of rough electricity shredding the nerves of your arm. You yelp and pull your hand back, but when you look at it, your fingers remain uninjured, your palm looks normal, and the skin of your knuckles remains smooth and unbroken. 

“Won’t be able to cross on your own,” Frisk’s voice echoes behind you. You’re shaking as you bring yourself to slowly turn and look through the ornate doorway. You can’t see them yet, but their voice resonates through that small corridor, low and powerful. “Just a human soul isn’t enough. Gotta have at least a human soul and a monster soul.”

“You said I could cross it,” you cry, hunching protectively over your own soul. You can feel it quivering in your palms, as you hear Frisk’s claws scrape over the stone floor with their approach. “You said I could go home!”

“No,” Frisk’s voice replies. “Never said that. Let you think it. Didn’t correct you.”

They appear in the doorway, then, and a whine builds in your throat as you crane your head back to look up at their newly towering form. Their fangs no longer peek out the slightest bit past their lip, but are threateningly bared, long and sharp. Their horns, once cute and harmless nubs, now curl back and out in thick spirals, like a ram. They grip the doorjamb with one large hand, their black claws digging into the stone, sending tiny cracks radiating out. Their tunic has transformed with them; no longer ripped or burned, and cut differently, it drapes down below their knees. It bears, still, the rune on the chest, the match to the one embroidered on your own borrowed robe. 

“Neither of us ever lied to you,” they continue. “I told you, didn't I? Chara wouldn’t say something that wasn’t true.”

Their eyes are open. Where you should see white, there’s only red, surrounding their dark, dark irises. A silver gash crosses each eye, a bright and inhuman horizontal pupil, and they regard you impassively.

“You should have listened to them, when they warned you about me,” Frisk says. “When they told you I wasn’t your friend.”

“I—I thought—I trusted you!” Your voice is small, but you at least manage to speak louder than a whisper, as you desperately press, “All that—everything—when you helped me, when we had dinner with Papyrus, when you came to stop Mettaton—did none of that mean anything to you?”

They step closer, and you scramble to the side, trying to hold your soul even closer, to pull it back where it belongs. Those pale pupils track your movements, even as Frisk stands still. “It doesn’t matter if it meant anything or not. I was born to break the barrier and free everyone. You’re the seventh soul we need,” they say, watching you.

Not lying to you, but letting you hear what you want—so, even now, they won't be honest. You grit your teeth, and then you yell, “It meant something to  _ me!_ I thought you cared about me!  _ I wanted to be your friend!”_

In lieu of an answer, Frisk extends one hand out, the now-familiar silver fire lighting under their fingers. Instead of gathering into a sphere of flame, it extends to either side, a long and bright line cutting through the air. They close their fist over the fire, and starting at their hand, the magic extinguishes, the flames vanishing. Left behind is what you at first think is a staff, until the fire at each end finally burns out. Frisk twirls the weapon, the curved blades on either end carving a large arc through the air, and they bring it to a stop with the pole held parallel to their arm, at the ready. 

“Never mattered, what I wanted,” they say. “I have to break the barrier. I have to lead monsters to the surface. Whatever it takes.”

Those eyes pin you under an apathetic gaze. Frisk inhales, deep enough that the rune on their tunic rises and falls with the motion.

“Wish I could tear it all out,” they say, wistful. “Wish I didn’t have to feel anything anymore. I could stop hoping. Stop being sad. Stop wanting to be happy. Stop caring.” They take another shuddering breath. “I could do what everyone wants me to, and destroy humanity, and be a good monarch, and it wouldn’t  _ hurt  _ anymore.”

They shake their head, as though physically throwing off their hesitations, and they bring the glaive up in a dangerous arc aimed at your chest—at your soul. You can feel the blade catch the loose fabric of your cape as you duck under it, yelping. You dash to the side, and another swing of the glaive flies through the air, so close you can feel the displaced air on your wet cheeks. You’re herded back to the barrier; you accidentally stumble into it, and another painful jolt shocks through you, tearing into your shoulder blades and spine and yanking a shriek out of you. Frisk doesn’t give you time to recover, bringing the blade down; it comes to a stop with the point nearly touching your nose. You don’t have anywhere to retreat; behind you, the threatening howl of the barrier warns you of what will happen if you back away.

“You don’t have to!” you try to reason, desperate. Your chest heaves with panic, and you don’t know if it’s your soul trembling or your fingers shaking around it, or both. Frisk holds their weapon steady, and you can barely meet their gaze for the tears blurring your vision. “There—you don’t have to start a—a war or something! We could find another way to get the barrier down, and I could help—”

“No,” Frisk cuts you off. “Everyone's waiting for this. For the day the barrier comes down. Everyone’s been dreaming of this moment.” Their eyelids lower in recollection, though the horizontal slashes of their pupils remain fixed on you. “This is the reason I was born. This is what my mom gave up her life for. If I can’t do what she wanted—if I’m not able to fulfil the prophecy—what’s even the point of me? Why am I still alive?”

“Who cares what she wanted!” you yell, gripping your soul tightly. “Who cares about the stupid prophecy! It’s wrong anyway, so just—just stop! Stop doing this!”

Your heavy breaths, then, are the only sound heard over the hum of the barrier. You try to glare up at Frisk over the blade of their weapon, but you can hardly focus on them, everything watery and blurred. They don’t move or respond, and you swallow, a brief moment of silence before your panicked breathing resumes. 

“Please,” you try again. There has to be something you can say, something you can do to make them realize their life is more important than what someone else wanted them to do. 

That Chara’s life was more important than that. 

“You shouldn’t have to live your life just doing what other people want,” you whisper. “Chara—Chara shouldn’t be dead just because you felt like you were  _ supposed _ to kill them!”

Slowly, they lower their weapon. You shake as the blade drops in front of your chest, in front of your soul hidden in your cupped hands, glowing red on your skin and your robe, but Frisk lets their arm fall completely, holding the glaive slack at their side. Their eyes open fully once more, bright red fully encircling those dark irises as they look down at you.

“You can go home, if you really want,” they say. “A way for you to cross the barrier.”

You start to smile, before you catch yourself. You can’t cross the barrier on your own, and Frisk can’t break it without your soul. You haven’t gotten through to them. What they’re offering you—it’s not a peaceful resolution at all.

“Kill me.” Their mouth moves around the words, and you hear their voice, but your brain’s come to a standstill, refusing to process the simple command. “Take my soul. Go home.”

“No,” you manage, your voice hollowed out. You’d thought—you’d hoped they might understand, but—

“Your choice,” Frisk says, stepping back and raising their glaive once more. They spin the weapon in beautiful arcs and figure eights, before bringing it to bear in front of them, held secure in both hands. Their voice has gone hard, what little emotion it held now cut away and discarded. “Kill,” they order, “or be killed.”

“No!” you yell. “I won’t—I won’t hurt you!”

They nod. “It was nice to meet you, Asriel,” they say, and you choke on a sob. They let their eyes fall closed, and with the serene flat line of their mouth, they almost look like the Frisk who you thought was your friend.

“Goodbye.”

So this is how it ends. You’re going to die without ever having made a single friend in your entire life. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull your soul close to your chest. You should have known.

“Stop!”

It’s a voice you’ve heard before. Your eyes fly open in disbelief as golden light floods over Frisk, and they stumble to the side under a rain of glowing blades. Cuts appear in the fabric of their tunic, in their sleeves, and one opens up across their right cheek. Your lips move but no sound comes out, and you’re gaping uselessly as Chara races through the doorway, hands aglow with golden flame and eyes wide in rage. They lunge forward to swipe at Frisk, unintimidated by the other monster’s greater stature, and Frisk once again gives way under the assault, falling back, raising their glaive only to block Chara’s attack with the pole. 

Finally, your throat remembers how to work. “Chara!” you force out, the syllables broken but still recognizable, and they turn their head to look at you. They’re still wearing their green tunic with the three slashes across the front, but the wound on their cheek has closed up. You still can pick out where Frisk cut them, however; new fur with a reddish tint has grown in, like a scar. A tiny smile passes across their face for a second before falling away, and they return to glaring at Frisk, who has regained their balance and stands now in a wide, ready stance. 

“Don’t hurt him,” Chara commands. They’re apparently unphased by Frisk’s unsettling glare, as they step sideways to put themself between you and Frisk. 

“Why not?” Frisk asks. “Last soul we need, right here.” They tilt their head, a gesture that would have appeared inquisitive on them before. “You tried to kill him, too.”

Though you can’t see Chara’s face anymore, you can see them duck their head and hunch their shoulders as they wince. They straighten again immediately, though, and there’s a snarl in their voice as they reply, “I know.” 

Cold melancholy seeps into your chest and fingers, and you bite the inside of your cheek. You knew this. You hadn’t forgotten. Chara wanted to lead a war with you as the first casualty, too.

But you’d still mourned when you thought them dead.

“Why?” Frisk repeats, the smallest drop of curiosity colouring their bland voice.

Chara shakes their head. “Do you really want this?” they ask. “Is this really the kind of ruler you want to be?”

“I’m already a murderer,” Frisk says, nonchalant. “Already awful. Doesn’t matter.”

“Shut up!” you yell, moving to stand next to Chara so Frisk can wilt under the full force of your glare. They don’t, but you still scowl as hard as you can, trying to channel as much of Mom’s disappointed frown into your expression as possible. “It  _ does _ matter! It’s—you can still want to do better! It’s okay to not want to hurt people! You idiot!”

“I  _ have _ to,” Frisk hisses. “I have to break the barrier. Have to save everyone.”

Chara lets out a long exhale. “I know,” they admit, pained. “But you know, too. This way is wrong.” Their stance relaxes, as they drop their shoulders, and the fires on their hands flicker, then disappear, snuffed out. They look so small, standing in front of Frisk, with their tunic still torn and their magic discarded, and you’re struck with the urge to push them out of the way, to stand in front of them. As if you have the power to protect anyone. Chara continues, “I know you don’t want to do this. If you really were determined to go through with it, you would have finished me off. But your last attack—” and they grin, challenging, furious, as they drive the point home with the same aggression as they swing their knives, “it never even touched me.”

Frisk shakes their head. You can see them flex their fingers where they grip the glaive, tightening and loosening their hold. They drop their eyes to the ground, as they whisper, a plea, “I have to.”

“No, you don’t.” You let one of your hands drop, blindly reaching for Chara’s, and you’re rewarded when you feel their fingers slip between yours. Their fur is soft, and their paw pads are warm when they squeeze your hand. They’re  _ alive_, and solid, and you’re crying again, but that’s okay. You hold your soul close to your chest with your other hand, and you take a step forward to Frisk. “You don’t have to hurt anyone,” you continue, “and you don’t have to restart a war. You don’t have to do things just because some dumb prophecy says so.”

You think Frisk might be forming another objection, but before they can open their mouth, another voice calls out through the corridor. “Chara!” you hear, slightly nasally, very out of breath. “Chara, I still didn’t finish telling you—” Alphys appears in the doorway, and her mouth drops at the sight of the three of you. “Oh my god,” she gasps, free of stutter for once, as she tilts her head back to take in the sight of Frisk. They don’t seem to react under her stare, observing her in return as she wrings her hands. 

“What’s going on up there?” Undyne’s voice calls out. “Is the human still alive?” She arrives to stand behind Alphys in the doorway, and passes a critical eye over all of you. “Wow,” she exhales, raising an eyebrow as she sees Frisk. “You almost look like you’re not a total pushover, now!”

It’s this that makes Frisk duck their head and take a step backward, away from everyone else. Alphys looks up to give Undyne a small frown; the guardswoman shrugs in response. Shaking her head, Alphys turns back to face you. “C-Chara,” she says, her stutter back in force, “F-Frisk. I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that—that you h-had to f-find out a lot of t-things were k-kept from you. I’m s-sorry that I didn’t t-tell you, because you d-deserved to kn-know.”

“You’re right,” says Chara, sharp and unsympathetic, “we should have been told. It doesn’t matter now.”

Alphys flinches, but stands her ground. “I-It does matter. Y-You need to know, r-right now, I t-think,” she stammers, and then glances at you before quickly looking away. “Y-You don’t n-need to k-kill Asriel to b-break the barrier. W-We already h-have enough s-s-souls.”

It’s Undyne who breaks the silence, when neither Frisk nor Chara react. “What!” she yells. “No way! There haven’t been any fallen humans since I was a kid! If the last one was the seventh, the king and queen would have broken the barrier already!”

“D-Didn’t you ever w-wonder,” Alphys starts, not at all thrown off by Undyne’s objection, “w-why even though w-we had several human souls already, the king and queen didn’t use any of them to c-cross the barrier and collect the rest?”

Undyne begins to reply, “What do you,” and then realization strikes, leaving her without words. You have to think about it for a moment longer, until it sinks in.

“W-When the war ended, e-everyone was so angry and hopeless. Everyone had lost f-friends, f-family. We w-were hurt, and afraid, and so the queen and king vowed to make humanity pay for what they’d done. The prophecy was made, and monsters s-started to have h-hope again.” Everyone’s attention is on Alphys as she speaks, and you can see the moment she realizes that, because she falters. But she gathers herself and pushes on through the explanation. “So when the first human f-fell…. They were k-killed. If the king or queen had taken that soul, then, t-they could have crossed the barrier and killed six more humans… but t-then we would have had to wage w-war against humanity again.”

“So?” Undyne asks. “Isn’t that what they  _ wanted_?”

Alphys shakes her head. “A-At first… but as they got older, and still couldn’t break the c-curse… the queen wrote in her w-will, t-they didn’t want to s-start another w-war w-without making sure they had an heir, i-in case of the w-worst h-happening… they didn’t want to leave us without a ruler.” She shoots another look to you, saying almost as an aside, “Y-You’ve seen how d-dependent the Underground is on t-the idea of a king and queen. Right now, most monsters w-will just f-follow along with whatever they’re t-told the king and queen have decided, even if the king and queen aren’t ever seen. And n-nobody thinks to question the prophecy.” She shakes her head. “Me, too. I-I should have questioned the instructions I was given.” She closes her eyes in a pained expression, before opening them and resuming her explanation. “A-Anyway. They knew, if they left us without a ruler, we’d have no chance. But t-then, when the second human f-fell, and that human didn’t know a-anything about the war, or monsters… It had been s-so long, the s-surface had forgotten about us. N-None of the humans who’d f-fought us were around anymore. And the king and queen decided that they didn’t w-want to start another w-war. At a-all.”

Undyne doesn’t speak immediately this time. You can see her teeth, bared in a frown as she processes what Alphys is telling you all. Frisk has closed their eyes, and their shoulders rise and fall with long, steadying breaths. The bottom blade of their glaive has sunk a little bit in the ground, as they use the weapon for support. Chara stares unblinkingly at Alphys, and you don’t have the slightest idea what they must be thinking.

“T-They offered the n-next fallen human a chance to live their life Underground—they would l-let the human’s life come to its natural end, and only take their s-soul then—but when that human d-discovered w-what had happened to the two who fell before, they couldn’t accept it.” Alphys pauses, her hands nervously fidgeting before her. “The next four… t-the queen wrote everything, i-if you w-want to know the rest. But finally, we had enough human souls to b-break the b-barrier… but w-we still weren’t able to b-break the curse.”

“That’s what the lab reports meant,” Chara says. Their voice is quiet; you think they’re speaking for themself, rather than caring if anyone else hears. “They made sure nobody knew that was the seventh human. They must have been  _ ancient _ by then.” Frisk brings a hand up to tug at their ear; seeing the familiar nervous gesture from the terrifying monster Frisk has become, you shiver. “Even if they didn’t want to start a war, returning to the surface with such a frail queen and king…”

Undyne snorts. “We would have just been asking to be sent packing again, huh?”

“Where’s the seventh soul?” Frisk asks. You flinch away, holding your own, and Frisk pointedly doesn’t look in your direction. “Only six in the throne room. Where is it?”

Alphys doesn’t respond right away. Chara’s grip on your hand becomes tight, but when you start to squirm, they look at you and then your joined hands with wide eyes, loosening their grip. “Sorry,” they whisper.

You’re not sure why their quiet apology inspires fresh tears to bead at the corners of your eyes.

“The Royal Scientists who came before me,” Alphys says, “they’d run all kinds of experiments and tests. Nothing worked. We knew—we’d always known—how to break the barrier, but the curse—nobody could figure it out. And then, shortly after the seventh human fell… the king and queen…”

“They died,” Frisk says flatly.

Alphys nods, perhaps grateful for Frisk finishing her sentence. “W-We followed the will they l-left behind, and didn’t t-tell anyone, because we didn’t want everyone to lose h-hope.”

“Who else knew?” Frisk asks, still looking at the floor. They’re clutching the pole of their glaive to their chest like a safety blanket. 

“C-Captain G-Gerson, and S-Sans,” Alphys answers. “N-Nobody else. I c-couldn’t even tell Undyne.”

“All those times we asked Sans to deliver messages to them,” Chara says, the familiar edge of laughter starting to creep into their tone. You give their hand another squeeze, and they return this one. “All that time, when we wondered what they thought of us, or why they wouldn’t even reply to our letters.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alphys repeats. Undyne sets a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Alphys reaches up and intertwines her fingers with Undyne’s. 

“You should have told us.” Chara squeezes their eyes shut, yelling. “You should have told us!”

“Well, she didn’t!” Undyne yells back. “Maybe let her get to the reason!”

Alphys shakes her head, getting Undyne’s attention. “N-No,” she says. “They’re right. I should have. B-But I w-was scared.” 

Chara starts to open their mouth, and Alphys holds up her hand, cutting them off. “I know,” she says, slowly, forming each word carefully. “Even if I was afraid of your reaction, and even if it was what the king and queen wanted. It wasn’t right.” She drops her hand, and sighs. “What I was scared of the most, though…”

She trails off, and you try to be patient and wait for her to regain her courage. Chara, next to you, stares intently at her, and you can see them bite their lip to stop themself from demanding she continue. 

“The queen and king were dead before we were born,” comes Frisk’s detached voice. “What did you do?”

“It was the only t-thing we c-could think of,” whispers Alphys. “A boss monster’s soul, and a human’s soul… they both persist after death. If we could extract that power from a human soul, then…”

Chara drops your hand, taking a step backward. Their eyes have gone wide in horror, and Alphys flinches.

Another voice takes up the explanation. Deep and nonchalant, you’ve heard this speaker before. “The king’s dust for Chara. The queen’s for Frisk. Shards of a human soul to anchor them, and your surrogate parents to form them.” Sans saunters in. You didn’t hear his footsteps down the corridor at all. “Do you think the people would have accepted Frankenstein’s monsters as their saviours, if they knew?” He shrugs.

Frisk slowly drops to their knees, their hands sliding down the glaive. They rest their forehead against the pole, breathing shallowly. Chara’s awful smile has once again stretched out across their face. “Is that why?” they ask, starting to giggle. “Is that why we’re so terrible? Because you used pieces of a human soul to—to  _ make _ us!?”

Your hands shoot out, grabbing both of Chara’s, and abandoning your soul to hover in front of your chest on its own. They try to yank their arms back, but this time you’re the one holding tight, even as they dig their blunt claws into your wrists. “Chara!” you yell, and they start laughing. Their arms go weak, and they bend forward, wracked with giggles. You try to support them, to help them stand back up, and instead they stumble into you, forehead coming to rest on your shoulder. You can feel every agonized laugh as they shake against you; you can feel every breath wash over your soul. “It’s not—it’s not so bad, having a human soul,” you stammer. “Or, um, or part of one.”

“It’s disgusting,” hisses Chara. “Monster souls are made of compassion, love, and hope. But humans don’t need any of those things to live.” They snicker, loosening their grip on your wrists and letting their hands rest in yours. “I always knew something was wrong with me.”

“There’s not!” you insist. “You don’t get to choose how you’re born! Just because you’re different from other people, it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you!”

Maybe it’s the hypocrisy of you saying that—you, the one constantly wishing to be more like your classmates, less different and weird—but when Chara lifts their head, and their big eyes bore into you, it’s clear your words mean nothing to them. 

“I tried to kill you,” they snarl. “I would have done it, if Frisk hadn’t been there.”

They remove their hands from your limp fingers, then, straightening up. “Well,” they say, looking over the assembled monsters. Sans has his hands in his hoodie pockets, the picture of a carefree and uninvested passerby. Undyne has dropped to a knee to wrap her arms around Alphys, who is shaking as she hides her face in Undyne’s shoulder. Her tail is curled up around her feet. 

Nobody has anything else to say, it seems. Chara’s unhappy grin only grows.

Their eyes land on Frisk, and they stride forward. Nobody moves to stop them, and they stand in front of the kneeling monster, hands on their hips. Even on their knees, Frisk is at Chara’s eye level; when they lift their head and let their eyes open halfway, Chara meets their gaze head on. 

“Partner,” Chara says. “It seems another path is better suited. Are you ready?”

Frisk closes their eyes, and using the glaive for support, pulls themself back to their feet. 

“To clarify,” Chara looks over their shoulder, “Now that Frisk has the other six human souls, the two of us together can break the barrier?”

Alphys raises her head to answer. “It’s… t-theoretically.” She has to lift her glasses up to wipe at her eyes. “It’s not precise… We lost s-some soul power in the t-transfer, too. But I t-think it’ll work.”

“If it doesn’t,” you blurt, because you’re a moron, apparently. Chara looks at you, and anything you might have planned to say to continue that sentence is lost under their stare.

The relief you feel, at seeing them alive, at hearing their voice and holding their hand, wars with the fear born of having seen their magic aimed at  _ you_, at knowing they meant to end your life, at the fresh memory of their desperate shouts. If they don’t have enough power to break the barrier after all, and your human soul is right here, and you’re surrounded by monsters...

Without answering your half-formed question, Chara and Frisk turn to face the barrier. The two of them are silhouetted in front of that wall of light; Frisk towers over Chara, and your gut twists. Your ears are filled with the cacophonous hum of so much magic. You bring your hands up once again to cup your soul, and it vibrates against your palms. 

Chara raises their arms, and golden fire encases the blades of the glaive. Frisk swings the weapon in a wide arc to gather momentum, steps forward, and brings the blade down.

You’re hit with a forceful gust of air, and you bring your hands up to shield your face. In front of your chest, your soul wavers, shivering under the gale. Alphys yelps as Undyne holds her steady, and Sans’s clothes are whipped around, but the skeleton himself doesn’t seem affected, still grinning as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. The golden flame surrounding the blades sputters, and Chara grunts, pressing forward; the blade is caught on what looks like empty air. Around it, dark cracks form, climbing up through the formless light, and Frisk bares their fangs in exertion. Their feet shift as they push against the barrier, claws digging into the ground, and Chara snarls loudly as their magic burns higher, but the glaive remains stuck, unmoving. Your hair whips around your face in the wind, and your cape flies out behind you, and you have to lean forward to resist being pushed back.

Over the roar of the barrier and the wind, you hear Alphys shout, “It’s not enough!”

Frisk’s growl rises to join the barrier’s thrumming groan, and Chara yells, “It has to be!”

It’s not, though. Even you can see that. The blade of the glaive is starting to slip, and the cracks that formed around it are starting to shrink. The initial force of the attack was enough to make a dent, but Frisk and Chara can’t maintain it. The golden tongues of flame are shrinking, flickering; Frisk’s arms are shaking with strain.

Your soul pulses in front of your chest. 

You aren’t able to run forward under the force of the wind, but you stagger the few steps it takes to bring you next to the two boss monsters. With one hand, you grab Chara’s; you wrap the fingers of your other hand around the pole of the glaive. Your soul flashes brightly, and your knees buckle. You think you hear Alphys shout your name; you know you hear Frisk and Chara yell it.

The blade comes down, and the world in front of you is cut in half, before everything disappears.

  
  
  
  
  


Chara’s hand is still in yours, you realize. You squeeze, and they squeeze back, warm paw pads and soft fur and blunt claws. If they’re not really there, you’re having a very, very convincing dream.

The pole of the glaive, however, is no longer under your other palm. Blindly, you reach your empty hand out, fingers grasping. There’s no more red glow coming from a little heart in front of you to light the way in this heavy darkness; your ribcage feels settled, your chest whole once more. 

There’s a sound like a match being struck, and a small flicker of gold flame—like that of a candle—appears, revealing Chara next to you. “Did,” they start, and then they bite their lip. You try to smile at them, and you’re relieved when the expression they form in return is small and gentle. “Did we do it?”

“I dunno,” you whisper. “I don’t know what happened.” You look around, but other than the outline of Chara’s silhouette, you can’t see anything. “Where’s Frisk?”

The smile drops from their face. They don’t answer, but another small gold flame flickers to life next to the first. This one doesn’t remain stationary, hovering next to you, but ventures off into the darkness. It doesn’t have far to go; it’s not long at all before you can discern the faint outline of a form crumpled on the ground. You glance to Chara, but their face is now shadowed and closed off. When you take a tentative step forward, however, they follow. You lead them over, their first little fire following you, and as you approach, the figure on the ground reveals itself: the same size as Chara, covered in pale fur, with little paw-like hands and a pair of small, nubby horns. A glimmering reflection of firelight shows that their eyes are open the narrowest sliver. On their right cheek, an open gash still sparkles with dust.

They’re lying in a heap, and they don’t move to get up. You feel like you should ask if they’re okay. 

“The souls are gone,” Chara observes. 

“Barrier, too,” Frisk rasps from their spot on the ground. 

But if the barrier’s gone, why’s it so dark? Where is everyone? Of course, what you wind up asking is neither of those questions, but a foolish, “Did we die?”

Chara laughs, and it’s a fearful sound. At your feet, Frisk starts to shift, pushing themself up to their knees. Bowed over and supporting themself with their hands, they answer in a whisper to the ground. “Not yet.”

Your spine goes stiff with cold fear, and then, just as quickly, you narrow your eyes. You’re not going to be frozen, useless, this time. “No!” you yell. “The barrier’s gone, right? You don’t—don’t talk like you’re about to start fighting again!!”

Frisk lifts their head to look at you; Chara turns to face you as well. Neither of them say anything to stop you, and, emboldened, you continue. “The prophecy wasn’t even right, so why can’t—why can’t you  _ both _ lead everyone back to the surface together?”

Chara lets out a quick bark of laughter. “It really was useless all along, wasn’t it?” They don’t answer your question.

“Maybe that’s why the king and queen wanted two of us,” Frisk mumbles. “Maybe they knew it wasn’t real. Just kept it going to give everyone something to believe in.”

“What,” you start, and then both monsters are staring at you intently again, and you falter. But, even though Chara’s eyes are wide crescents over an enormous grin, and even though Frisk’s face is as impassive as they can make it, and betrayed by their shaking fists on the ground—even though you don’t think the two of them could be more different, their expressions are exactly the same.

The other monsters aren’t the only ones who’d needed something to believe in.

Finally, you ask, “What did the prophecy say?”

Chara closes their eyes; when they open them, their smile has gone. They recite memorized words in a dull tone. “The curse will be broken, and they will appear: A child determined to reach the surface. They will reveal the path to freedom, and unite our wills as one.”

Frisk leans back, sitting on their heels. They drag their hands up to rest them, limp, on their legs, as they pick up the rest: “Child of hope, never give up. Child of dreams, make them reality. Child of love, bring our joy to the surface.”

Bewildered, you stare at Frisk, and then Chara. “Those are the exact words?” you ask, but you have no doubt at all that what you’ve just heard is word-for-word verbatim, completely true to the original. Confirming your thoughts, Chara nods. 

The silly little thought in your head—that can’t be right. If the queen and king knew the exact prophecy, and still planned for two children—

“Child of hope,” you murmur, your eyes flicking to Chara, and then to Frisk. “Child of dreams.” You look down at your own hands, as you mumble the last, “Child of love.”

You have the briefest of seconds to see Frisk’s mouth drop, and Chara’s eyes widen, before bright pink and gold rays spill over the three of you. The red and orange beams of sunlight flood your vision, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut, automatically raising up a hand to block the light. You hear Chara yell, and Frisk makes a strained noise.

Blearily, you blink your eyes open, and next to you, Chara gasps. You must have come out fairly high up on the mountain. From here, you can see the sun rising over your town, bathing everything in warm hues. Telephone poles and angled rooftops cast long purple shadows, and the autumnal colours of the trees seem to almost glow in the morning light. There’s a chill breeze in the air; you hug yourself, missing your sweater.

Behind you comes the sound of feet shuffling over rocks and dirt. You turn to see Alphys and Undyne walking out of the mouth of the cave behind you. Further past them, in the dim shadows of the cave, you can just make out Sans, lounging against the doorway.

“Oh my god,” Alphys says, holding tight to Undyne’s hand with both of hers, as they emerge to join you in the light. “Oh my god, it’s so beautiful?”

“Damn, kid!” Undyne crows. “You live with this every day?”

You offer her a wary smile, but she’s not paying attention to you, her eye fixed skyward, and so you turn to Frisk and Chara. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise you to see that the fur around their eyes is wet, but it does; you startle, and Chara turns to beam broadly and teary eyed at you. 

“We did it,” they say, awed. “We did literally everything wrong, and we still made it.” They laugh, and you’re reminded of the first time you heard Frisk laugh in that snowy forest underground. It’s a clear, joyful sound, and something warms up inside you.

“Never thought I’d be able to see this with you,” Frisk whispers, ragged. “I’m so glad.”

Chara faces the sunrise once more. The oranges and pinks of the light are reflected, jewel-like, in their red eyes, their fur is tinted with gold, and they belong here, bathed in the warmth of the sun and breathing in the chill autumn air. The thought of them living out the rest of their life underground—now that you’ve seen them in the sun, that thought is unbearable.

“Hey,” Frisk says. You look down to see them, but they’re not looking at you or Chara. Their shoulders are hunched, their gaze pointed down. “You remember, what you said? When we promised we’d destroy the barrier together, and save everyone?” Their voice fluctuates between a hollow rasp and a familiar, thick tone, the sound of a voice densely filled with restrained tears.

“Of course I do,” says Chara, still looking to the sun. “You’re a great partner,” they recite. “We’ll be together forever.”

“I,” Frisk starts, and then they press their mouth shut. Their claws twist the fabric of their already torn and scorched tunic, and with their head down, their fringe dangling over their eyes, their features are obscured in lilac shadows. “I wanted to go back to that, for so long. More than anything.” They let out a shuddering breath. “And now I ruined it.”

“I wanted to go back to that, too,” is all Chara says. 

You look over to Alphys and Undyne, but neither of them says anything, though you can see they’ve been watching you and the two boss monsters. When you turn back to Chara and Frisk, neither of them will look at the other, Frisk still with their head down to the ground, Chara still crying quietly under the sun’s bright rays. Should you say something?

It’s not your problem, how the two of them sort out their relationship, or even if they never do.

But, maybe…

Your thoughts are interrupted by a shout that carries up the mountain. You jump, sure you’re hearing things, but it sounds again, and you spin, frantically looking for a path down.

“Asriel!” your mom calls yet again. “Asriel, where are you!”

“Mom!” you yell, darting past Alphys and Undyne. Your sneakers skid on loose dirt and pebbles, and you nearly trip on the hem of your robe. You grab it at the knees and hike it up, running as fast as you dare down the uneven path. “Mom, I’m up here!”

“Asriel!” That’s Dad’s voice, too, and you’re crying and laughing both as you race down toward where you can hear him and Mom. And then you can see them, past a clump of pine trees, and you shout, a wordless cry of joy and relief. Mom turns to face you, and Dad opens his arms, and you practically fall the rest of the way down the dirt trail. You tumble into the hug, and Dad lifts you off your feet, and maybe it’s okay that you basically haven’t stopped crying since you thought Chara was dead, because now Dad’s crying, too. Mom wraps her arms around you both, and you rub your face into your dad’s stupid hawaiian shirt and you sob happily. 

“We were so worried,” Dad says, and you’d been so scared you’d die without ever hearing his big voice again.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” Mom says, pulling back from the hug a little so she can glare properly at you. Her hair peeks out from her hijab, hastily pulled on, nothing like her normal orderly appearance, and that, even more than her sharp tone, tells you how distressed she’s been. You wince, as she demands, “Where have you been all night?” She looks you up and down, taking in your robe and cape, and you open your mouth to tell her, but your mom is unstoppable when she’s upset, and you don’t get a chance to say a word before she’s bowling right over you. “What is all this? Are you so excited for Halloween you decided to spend the night out gallivanting with friends? Why did you not answer your phone!”

“No, Mom, I have to tell you!” You push back from Dad’s chest so you can have the room to look at Mom. “I fell into Mt. Ebott! There’s a whole kingdom down there, and I—”

“Son,” your dad cuts you off, “you may want to choose another time to tell us one of your stories. Your mother and I have had a very long night, and I do not think we will be able to appreciate your imagination fully right now.”

“But Dad,” you protest, “this isn’t one of my stories! I wanted to come home, but there was a magic barrier, and—”

“Asriel Dreemurr,” Mom says, and this is definitely the part where you should shut up and accept the grounding of your life, but you’re not lying. You twist in Dad’s arms, trying to see if you can catch sight of Frisk or Chara or Undyne or Alphys back at the mouth of the cave, but you’d rushed off so quickly in the direction you heard your parents’ voices that you’re not quite sure where to look. 

“Well, whaddaya know!” comes Undyne’s voice. “They don’t  _ all _ look like such super weenies!” 

You jerk around to face the other direction, and sure enough, Chara, Frisk, Alphys and Undyne have come down the path after you. Frisk is visibly limping, though their features are once more stuck on those expressionless flat lines. (You wonder if it’s mean of you to think it serves them right. Probably.) Chara stands tall, taking bold steps, but you think you’re familiar enough with their range of smiles to know that the one they wear now is nervous, stuck there as a front of bravado. 

How must your parents appear to these monsters, most of whom have never seen a human other than you? Your dad is a big person—you’re not sure who’s taller, between him and Undyne, but it must be close. He’s broad, too, and strong enough that he can still pick you up with ease, even though you’re not in elementary school anymore. His skin is fair, and his hair’s pale blond—even his beard isn’t that dark, and a lot of people think he’s white when they first see him. You don’t expect that the monsters are going to think anything of the fact that he’s got a hooked shape to his nose. 

Your mom’s pretty tall, too, though come to think of it, monsters probably don’t have any expectations of height related to gender. Her eyes are dark, and a couple locks of black, wavy hair peek out from her hijab (today her headscarf is a really pretty indigo, with little lilac diamonds patterned all over it). Her skin’s about the same shade as yours. You’ve wished, often, that you could have managed to take after either her or Dad entirely, instead of getting stuck with whatever weird recessive genes one of Mom’s grandparents must have passed along so that against all odds you’d wind up with her skin tone and Dad’s hair. Though maybe, to the monsters, your appearance next to your parents makes perfect sense. 

Mom is also frowning, and definitely out of patience.

“What is this?” she asks. You get Dad’s attention, which takes a couple tries since he’s stuck staring dumbfounded at the four monsters, but once he notices, he puts you down. As soon as your feet are on the ground again, you walk over to Chara and grab their hand. After some hesitation, you grab Frisk’s in your other, and you lead them both over to your parents. 

“Mom, Dad,” you say, and your parents stare, flabbergasted. You remember your own incredulous shock at meeting the two boss monsters. It seems like it was ages ago. “This is Chara and Frisk. They’re the future rulers of the monsters who live under Mt. Ebott.” You let go of both warm paws, and turn so you can face the boss monsters, moving to stand between your parents. “This is my mom and dad.” 

Chara’s smile becomes a little brighter, though it’s still not completely genuine. “Greetings!” they chirp. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances. Your son has helped us immeasurably.” Next to them, Frisk raises a paw and wiggles their fingers in a tiny, nervous wave.

“Oh, my,” your dad says. “Those are certainly some impressive costumes!”

“Gorey,” Mom says, “I think they might actually be real.”

Undyne throws back her head and laughs, and you’re pretty sure nobody can look at her teeth and think they’re not the real deal. “I hope not every human’s this dense!”

“W-Well,” Alphys stammers, “i-it’s been a l-long time since the w-war. It sounds like w-we’re just l-legends to humans, now.”

“Oh, my,” dad says again. “Son, it looks like you’ve got quite a story to tell us, after all.”

Chara’s smile grows a little brittle, and Frisk shrinks back. You try to offer them a reassuring smile—there’s basically no way you’re telling your parents how many monsters tried to kill you in the past twelve or so hours. 

“But first,” Mom cuts in, “we’re getting you home. You’re an absolute mess. And where’s your sweater?”

You think you hear Alphys murmur something about Mettaton and the lab, but the thought of finally going home and taking a hot shower and eating Mom’s cooking and sleeping in your bed is way more important. You lean against Dad, and without being asked, he picks you up again. Mom is saying something to the group of monsters—maybe about having them come with you so they can explain everything in a more comfortable setting, and you hear Alphys and Undyne reply, about the barrier and making sure nobody rushes through until they know what kind of reception they’ll be getting. Chara says something about Sans, you think, but you can hear Dad’s heartbeat where you rest your head on his chest, and he and Mom can take care of everything, now. You’re safe, and nobody’s dead, and nobody’s dying, and you’re going home.

  
Everything’s going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> this is not the end for our terrible trio, though it does mark the end of this story arc! thanks everyone who's stuck with me through it!
> 
> also, credit where credit is due: rather a lot of dialogue lines from this are copied from the game, though some of them, repurposed. One line of internal monologue is taken from the episode of Steven Universe where Connie first appears, because I couldn't stop myself.


End file.
